


Under the Mask (DISCONTINUED)

by susies_fandom_wonders



Series: Under the Mask [3]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen, Insanity, M/M, Targent, and bronev must fix it, bronev realizing his mistake too late as always, des has lost it, man/man relationship, not ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-02-07 21:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12849894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susies_fandom_wonders/pseuds/susies_fandom_wonders
Summary: What if Descole gets caught by Targent at the end of Miracle Mask?





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a request, but it was very well received so it's becoming its own thing now.

Descole didn’t expect the knee to the stomach as he lunged at Leon Bronev. He gave an uncharacteristic gasp as all the air fled from him in one fluid movement. He started to collapse to the sandy grounds around the Nautilus Chamber of Akbadain when Bronev caught him by his feather boa. He grit his teeth as the leader of Targent gave him one of the largest sneers he had ever seen, then was cast to the side, where he rolled and flipped until he was caught and pinned by Bronev’s followers.

He struggled, feeling the fear of what would happen when Bronev reached him spurring him into reacting almost animalistically, bucking and arching his back until the graying man knelt in front of him. He froze as fingers grazed his mask, his only way to ensure they didn’t know him.

“You cannot do this! You have no right!” Bronev tsked at Descole’s words, and then fingers hooked under the mask, his diguise. The masked man clenched his eyes shut.

“Just a little peek won’t hurt, would it, Descole?” Descole shrank away at the words as much as he could. Bronev’s fingers were pulling the mask off when the area was coated with white smoke. The hold on him loosened enough to kick them away and stand.

“Master!” Raymond was next to him, hands cupping the man’s face as he checked for any injury. “Are you alright?” Descole was already starting to move as he nodded quickly, knowing the mask was gone, it was gone, and if the smoke cleared, he would be compromised.

He could hear the shouts of surprise and anger of the Targent men. He could hear them from Bronev.

“Fire! Don’t let them get away!” Descole motioned for Raymond to run, and he began running after him when bullets whizzed through the air. The red-eyed man gasped, having been grazed a few times by the bullets and tearing his clothes even further. He looked up at Raymond as he gave a soft cry before falling to the ground. The man was next to him immediately.

“Raymond!” The butler didn’t respond. Descole patted his cheeks, his panic skyrocketing the longer his companion didn’t respond. “C’mon, Raymond, please, I can’t lose you too.” Descole let out a roar when Targent surrounded him again, and picked him up under his shoulders. He writhed and kicked as he was slowly but surely being pulled away from his companion, his friend, who was in the middle of a slowly increasing pool of crimson.

His father, who was more than likely dead.

He gave a soft grunt as he was kicked in the stomach again, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Please,” he gasped. “Please, I need to be with him. He’s dying --”

“Descole.” Bronev was in front of him again, and he could see the man’s eyes narrowing underneath the glasses he wore as he looked at the face of Desmond Sycamore. Then, he grinned. “Desmond Sycamore. Who would have thought such an esteemed archaeologist was the cause of so much destruction…. I guess you get it from me.” Descole grit his teeth before spitting at his father, his father who had fought with Targent the most with leaving his sons, his father who was ruling Targent with an iron fist.

“You can rot in hell,” Descole spat. “You let my mother die, and you are ruling the organization that takes people away from their families.” Bronev pursed his lips, his eyebrows knitting together as he let out a huff.

“You, of all people, should know why I’m doing this. Rachel’s death will not be in vain.” Descole grit his teeth once more as Bronev continued. “Your younger brother seems to be happy, at any rate.”

“That’s because he doesn’t remember, you sick bastard.” Bronev was silent, his lips turning down into an absolutely miffed expression before there was an fist to Descole’s head, and his body didn’t register the pain until he passed out. The last thing he heard was the muffled voice of his father as he was dragged away.

“You are going to regret remembering once I’m done with you, Hershel.”


	2. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bronev has sent Des over the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be swearing from here on out. Please be warned.

Desmond came to again on what he assumed was the way to Targent’s headquarters, as he was in the backseat of what appeared to be an armored truck, a panel of metal keeping him from the front seat. His head pounded, and when he reached to assess the damage he realized his hands were bound by rope. He grunted, pulling at the rope with all his might, even tried using his teeth to undo the knot, but the restraints had been done so well he couldn’t loosen them. He kicked the wall in front of him hard, his frustration mounting and causing tears to spring into his eyes.

He had been caught by Targent. And there was no way out. He was going to have to count on Raymond to --

Desmond’s heart stopped. Raymond was dead, he had been shot, he was dead, he had been there when he had collapsed to the sandy ground, blood pooling around his head. He was dead. The red-eyed man let out a string of curse words, his voice cracking with emotion. If he hadn’t have let the anger, the frustration, control him, Raymond would still be alive. The butler had even asked him if they should go quietly, the concern in his voice should have been a big indicator that Raymond knew what would happen if he ran straight into the army of men in front of him. Desmond grit his teeth. Raymond knew that someone would not come out of this encounter alive if he engaged, and the butler had always promised to protect Desmond with his life. The man felt tears beginning to form in his eyes, and they stung as the warm liquid trailed down his cheeks.

The vehicle stopped, and Desmond stiffened, quickly wiping his eyes as the doors opened. Hands were on him then, and he let out a growl as he was dragged out of the vehicle. He struggled and kicked before a low laugh reached his ears.

“If you didn’t fight, it would be a lot easier for the both of us.” Desmond clenched his teeth together so hard they ground against each other as he glared at Bronev. The older man was looking at him with a smug grin; he knew he had won.

“You have already taken everything from me.” Desmond spit at the ground, and Bronev’s grin fell. “You can’t hurt me anymore. I will never join you.” The red-eyed man smirked at his so-called father, feeling confident in his words.

That is, until Bronev started laughing. Des felt his stomach pooling with dread.

“You are a stupid, stupid boy.” Bronev motioned to behind him, and Desmond gave a gasp at what -- or rather, who -- he saw. “I use every one of your weaknesses to my advantage. You shouldn’t have been so emotional at Akbadain.”

Desmond could only stare in wonder and horror as Bronev stepped to the side to allow the person behind him to be seen. He was strapped to a gurney, a breathing mask on his face as an IV was placed into his arm. The mask fogged up with each shaky breath.

“How --?” Desmond struggled, and to his surprise, the men holding him let him go as he rushed to Raymond’s side, grasping a limp hand into his tied ones. “How is he alive?” He had seen the bullet pierce his chest, had seen the way Raymond had collapsed. He should -- in every sense -- be dead. But he was here, alive. He was critically injured, but he was alive. He could see where the bullet had hit, the clothes torn and bloody around where the man’s heart was. Desmond felt relief surging through him as he realized that the bullet must have barely missed the organ, and then the panic returned as he realized what this meant. He looked at Bronev, and the man was grinning.

“You cannot be serious, Bronev.” The man didn’t answer. “You leave him alone!”

“He is getting the treatment he needs, Desmond. You don’t want our help?” Desmond was fuming at this point, the anger from Akbadain suddenly returning.

“You are going to use him against me!” The panic returned. “Just leave me and my father alone!” He didn’t realize what he had said until Bronev cocked his head, a facsimile of confusion spreading across his features.

“But Desmond, aren’t I your father?” The question set Desmond off more than any other part of this question. He narrowed his eyes, his vision going slightly red.

“You are no father.” Bronev tsked.

“Pity. Then I guess I can show you no mercy?” He snapped his fingers, and there was a gun (how did that get there so fast?) against Raymond’s head. Des’s blood turned cold. “If I get rid of him fully, I’m sure you will be a little bit more willing.”

“You wouldn’t.” Des was starting to shake, knowing his statement was only fuel to the fire.

“I wouldn’t?” Bronev gave a smirk. “I believe that you need to think over that statement again.”

“Don’t hurt him.” Desmond was close to completely giving in to his panic, his fear, and he was not above begging now, the emotion swirling around him and making a whirlwind. “Please… don’t hurt him. He’s all I have left.” Bronev just grinned, and nodded to the man holding the gun. Desmond saw the slight movement, and tensed.

“Don’t --”

He stepped back as the man pulled the trigger. Bronev watched as the man in front of him went completely still, the blood from Raymond’s body spraying onto Desmond’s face, his suit. He watched as Desmond collapsed to his knees, his arms wrapping around his body as his breathing became labored.

“You… you actually did it.” Desmond’s voice was weak, shaky. “You killed him.”

“I am not beyond killing, Desmond, and you know that.” Desmond gave a quiet sob, and Bronev felt a strange sort of satisfaction from the sound. Bronev’s smile dropped into a confused frown as Desmond stood up, and a sharp laugh escaped the red-eyed man’s lips. Those laughs quickly turned into maniacal laughter, the sound actually producing a shudder from Bronev.

“You actually did it.” Desmond’s voice was high pitched, laced with a sort of morbid glee. “You actually fucking did it.” Bronev took a step back as Desmond spun around to face him, a wide grin stretched across his face. “Was this your plan the whole time? To….” A laughing fit broke his sentence, and Desmond doubled over, tears streaming from his eyes and his mouth open wide. “To break me?” Bronev actually felt a pang of worry as Desmond’s laughing turned into angry sobs. Bronev couldn’t react fast enough as Desmond suddenly lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. He couldn’t fathom why Desmond had changed from sad to happy to angry in the span of a few minutes. Desmond growled, his teeth clenched as he wrapped his hands around Bronev’s throat.

“You killed him! He was the only one I had left!” Desmond’s voice was nothing more than a growl. His eyes flashed dangerously as Targent men surrounded him, trying to pry him off. “Get your hands off me! Raymond was the only one! He was the only one, you motherfuckers!” His voice had risen to hysterical screams and laughter as Bronev gasped for air.

“Sedate him!” Bronev gasped. “Sedate him now!”

“You coward!” Desmond shrieked as they finally pulled him away from Bronev. As he gasped for air, they pinned the red-eyed man to the ground as he flailed and tried to land a hit on something, anything, as they jabbed a needle into his neck. “You’ve killed everyone! Everyone, Bronev!” His struggles became weaker as the drug began to kick in. “You are the reason everyone I care about is dead!” He spat as Bronev sat up. “I just need to return the favor, shouldn’t I?!” His mouth was twisted into a feral grin as his eyes grew glazed. Bronev frowned at him as he rubbed his neck.

“I only am doing what I have to.” Desmond let out a set of giggles before his eyes slipped closed. One of his men stepped up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay, Boss?” Bronev’s frown deepened as his men dragged Desmond away.

“If I am… I won’t be once he wakes up.”


	3. Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bronev tries to get answers from Des, and ultimately walks away with more questions.

Bronev watched the man behind the glass as he paced the cell.

“Answer me!” Desmond screamed, his voice hoarse. “Answer me, you fuckers! Where is Bronev? I want him here now! He’s the only one! The only one that understands! Send him here now!” Bronev shook his head. From the moment he woke a couple of days ago, all he made was that same request between gales of laughter and sobbing. He hadn’t slept, he refused any food put in the cell for him, his appearance slowly getting more and more haggard as time went on. Luckily, he hadn’t made any attempt to leave the room he was put in, simply too out of it to really notice when the door opened and closed.

Finally, after what seemed like the millionth request to let him see Bronev, the older man complied, however he spoke through a speaker into the room.

“Desmond.” The red-eyed man swiveled his head to the speakers, and he grinned wildly.

“Too scared to come in here, Bronev? You coward.” His voice ranged from his normal one into an almost baritone one, and yet again it swirled into a high pitched voice of glee.

“I just want to ask you a couple of questions,” Bronev said. “It would be in your best interest to listen and answer.” Desmond started laughing again, his voice cracking from overuse and lack of water.

“Or what?” He sneered at a speaker. Bronev couldn’t answer. Desmond plopped down where he stood. “It’s just like I said.” His voice seemed to be directed at someone else, and why that was, Bronev wasn’t sure.

“Desmond, why did you refuse to join us when we first asked you?”

“‘Desmond, why did you refuse to join us when we first asked you’?” The red-eyed man mimicked Bronev’s voice perfectly. He continued in the same voice. “Did you want your family to die? Or were you simply not aware of the consequences? Either way.” His voice rose again as he struggled to keep himself from laughing. “You fucked up, Desmond. Just like you always do.” Bronev could only stare as the laughter dissolved into loud sobs. “You always, always do. First with the family in your life, and now with your father. Not your real one, mind you.” His voice had gone deeper again, and Bronev realized who he was hearing. He was hearing Descole. “You never gave a shit about your real father. You didn’t care about him until he took you wife and daughter.”

“Desmond,” Bronev tried again. The man quieted down temporarily. “I asked you a question.”

“Did you?” Desmond’s voice was back to normal. “Because honestly, I couldn’t care less.” Bronev grit his teeth. This was much more infuriating than he originally thought. And yet… he still felt a sharp pang of guilt for having triggered this.

“Can you tell me about your family?” He finally asked, hoping to at least get a straight answer from Desmond. Desmond shot up on his feet, and he glared in the direction Bronev was, as if he could actually see him through the one way glass. The older man felt a shudder go down his spine.

“Why do you care?” His voice had deepened again, his eyes sharpening. “You never cared when we were a family and you certainly don’t care now.”

“Desmond, please answer the que --” In a blur of movement, Des slammed against the glass wall in front of Bronev with all his might. The glass, being reinforced, shuddered, but didn’t give way. Instead, a tiny crack appeared where Desmond had thrown himself. Bronev stepped back nonetheless, then rushed forward and grabbed the phone by the microphone as Desmond threw himself at the glass again, shrieking with anger, curse words flowing from his mouth like water.

“Get some sedatives to cell 1B now!” Bronev slammed the phone down, and watched in shock as the tiny crack in the glass grew bigger, little by little.

“You killed them! You don’t deserve to know them! Wait til I break this glass, you --” He froze then, his mouth open in something akin to shock. It was the most normal expression Bronev had seen since Desmond’s snap thus far. Then, he fell forward, a Targent man behind him with a needle the next thing Bronev saw.

“Get him restrained before he wakes up, now.” Bronev watched as multiple men entered the room then, lifting the man up and placing him on his bed in the cell. He sat down with a large sigh, raking a hand through his hair.

He certainly hadn’t gotten any answers. He wasn’t sure if he ever could.


	4. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bronev gets desperate after attempting to get answers from Des again.

Bronev didn’t know what to do. Desmond was still refusing to eat, and the leader of Targent was getting more and more frustrated. It had gotten to the point where he needed to put a saline drip into his arm, the man becoming so dehydrated that he was almost literally on death’s door.

The most worrisome thing is how Desmond didn’t speak after he woke up. The eerie silence in the cell was deafening. Any other time, a prisoner being this quiet was a good sign. Now… it troubled Leon Bronev to no end. He had expected more of how Des had acted the last time he had woken.

The medical staff at Targent had strapped Desmond to a sort of hospital bed, making it impossible for him to move, to hurt himself. They had given Bronev a small report as they left, and asked if he had any idea how to fix what he had done to the man in the cell. He assured them that he knew exactly what he was doing, though the words seemed hollow on his end.

Since Des was strapped down, Bronev saw no harm in going into the cell to talk to him face to face. As the doors slid away and he stepped into the cell, Bronev felt the shivers starting to form, and he clenched his fists together as he approached the man in the bed.

“Desmond?” He asked softly. Des didn’t respond, and Bronev’s first thought was that the man must have fallen asleep, but with the way he had been acting, Bronev needed to make sure. He reached out a hand slowly, and placed it on Des’s cheek.

He wasn’t expecting the flinch and slight whimper as Des’s reaction. He pulled it away quickly, then spoke again.

“Desmond, can you hear me…?” Bronev waited another long moment, then touched Des’s face again, and the man didn’t react this time as Bronev turned the other man’s head towards him.

He pursed his lips at what he saw. Desmond’s eyes were large and glassy, the unfocused gaze staring through Bronev as if he weren’t there. Bronev shook the man’s head gently, trying to snap him out of whatever he was in right now.

“Desmond, answer me.” Desmond still didn’t respond, but his body began to shake. Bronev clenched his teeth together before saying the next name. “Hershel?” Desmond’s breathing grew heavier, his calm, even breathing growing faster.

“Not my name,” came the muttered reply. It didn’t look like Desmond’s mouth had moved at all, the voice not louder than a hushed whisper. “Not my name… not my name….” Desmond’s chest heaved, his body shaking even more, his eyes remaining unfocused, empty. Bronev stepped away, reaching for the table that the medical staff had brought in, his hands curling around a syringe.

“Not my name…!” Desmond’s voice was growing panicked. “Hershel will never be here, he won’t ever, he’s actually happy with a family, has friends that will protect him…!”

“Desmond, calm down.” At the name, Desmond visibly relaxed, though his shaking didn’t cease.

“Hershel is safe.” Desmond’s voice had returned to a whisper, and Bronev was reminded of when the man in front of him was just a child, his worry about his younger brother overriding any sort of self-care. “He was Theodore, but he’s Hershel now. I’ve let him take my place with the Laytons. He is safe. He would’ve died. He is safe.”

“Desmond, can you explain what you’re talking abo --”

“Theodore couldn’t have known when to eat and sleep. He needed parents.” Desmond’s voice was trailing off, his eyes half-lidded. “Though I did, too.” Bronev stepped away from the restrained man, and turned to leave after placing the syringe back on the table. As he reached the door, Desmond spoke again.

“Yes, yes, you always say that, Raymond.” Bronev turned back to Desmond, his eyes wide. After a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity, Desmond spoke again. “I know I needed parents just as much as him, but I had a better chance of livi -- I know, Raymond. Stop lecturing me like I’m a child.” Bronev felt another pang move through his body like an electric current. He actually felt bad, felt sorry, regretted what he had done to his biological son.

Desmond spoke again before he fell silent once more. “As long as you’re here, Raymond, I won’t ever do anything rash.” Bronev left the room, his teeth gritting together. One of his men stood there, his lips pulled into a frown.

“Boss, are sure about rehabilitating this man?” Bronev looked at him, and nodded.

“As sure as I’ll ever be with him.”

“Do you think he’ll ever come to? I mean, if he doesn’t we’ll have to ki --” The Targent man let out a startled cry as he was pushed up against the wall. Bronev was seeing red as he pushed at the man’s neck harder and harder. His gasps for breaths turned to quiet gurgles and choking sounds as he struggled to breathe.

“Don’t you dare finish that thought. He is a very important pawn in our cause, I can assure you.” The man was limp against his hands for several moments before Bronev actually released him. The man crumpled to the floor, where he stayed, his body still. Bronev placed a hand on his forehead, what could he do now, what could he possibly do? He was running out of options, and even his men were beginning to question him. He wasn’t able to pull Des out of the state he had put him in, his mind had completely shut down to Bronev’s questions earlier.

So who else would be able to…?

He paused, his eyes widening as he thought of an idea. He quickly strode to his office, sitting at his desk as he looked through phonebook after phonebook for the number he was looking for. When he did, he placed a finger on the name as he dialed. He tapped his foot on the ground impatiently as the phone rang. Finally, the person picked up.

“Hello?” Bronev sighed.

“Are you Professor Hershel Layton?”

“Speaking.”

“I am Leon Bronev, and your brother is going through an episode in which I cannot help him recover from. Can you help me?” There was a lengthy pause before the professor answered.

“I believe you are mistaken. I am an only child. Perhaps you have the wrong number?”

“No, this is the correct number, and I will explain everything, but there is not much time. Your brother is deteriorating as we speak. Will you help me?” Another long pause.

“I will do what I can.” Bronev didn’t realize he was tense until he relaxed, his grip on the phone loosening.

“Thank you. I will send a plane to pick you up tomorrow at noon. Please, come alone. He is in a very unstable state.”

“I will make sure nobody accompanies me.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.” He moved to hang up the phone.

“Wait.” Bronev placed the earpiece back to his head.

“Yes?”

“Who is my claimed to be brother?” Bronev sighed at the question.

“His name is Desmond Sycamore.”


	5. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton finally steps into the picture, and Bronev is actually trying to be decent.

Layton waited at the air strip the next day, his jacket blowing and fluttering in the wind. It was close to noon, and he couldn’t help but feel nervous as he looked up at the sky.  
The man that had contacted him last night -- Leon Bronev -- said that Desmond Sycamore was his brother, and that he was very unstable. Unstable from what, he didn’t know, but he had heard about the esteemed archaeologist.

How he had been missing for a few weeks now. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry. Desmond had seemed like he was a perfectly capable man; the professor himself had attended one of his speeches about the Azran. His posture, the way he spoke, he was very well-educated about the virtually unknown civilization. The professor couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened to put him into such a fragile state.

And, the professor mused, Bronev had said that the elder professor was his brother. Why that didn’t come as more of a shock, he wasn’t entirely sure, but Bronev’s name and the mention of a brother stirred memories deep within him he wasn’t sure how to address. In fact, a wave of nostalgia washed over him at the man’s voice. It was like they had met before, and the professor couldn’t for the life of him figure out where he had met this man.

The buzzing of an airplane snapped Layton out of his thoughts, and he looked as a green aircraft landed in front of him. It seemed almost like it was a military plane, and Layton frowned at the revelation. Why would Professor Sycamore be in a military facility?

The door opened, and a man in a blue jacket and white pants stepped out. Layton felt another wave of nostalgia as he recognized the man in front of him. Rather, he had a strong sense of deja vu.

“Bronev?” He asked as the man approached him.

“And you must be Professor Layton.” Bronev’s voice was deep, and his lips were pursed underneath his beard. He held out a hand, and the professor shook it.

“What is this about Sycamore being my brother?” He asked this without really thinking it through, the words tumbling past his lips. Bronev frowned before motioning for Layton to follow him onto the plane.

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain on the way.” Layton stepped into the plane, and it took off. Bronev sat down on a rather fancy-looking couch, and looked at Hershel as the professor sat down as well. They stared at each other for a while, the silence between them growing more and more uncomfortable. Bronev looked down at his hands before clearing his throat.

“Tea?” He asked.

“Yes, please.” Hershel watched as Bronev snapped his fingers, and men came out of the shadows that Layton hadn’t seen before. He felt a sort of dread pooling within him as he looked at each of the men. Bronev didn’t seem fazed, instead ordering some tea to be made. Layton watched as they left.

“What exactly is this group?” Layton asked. Bronev looked at him for a long moment before he answered.

“We are a sort of... archaeological police. We have been travelling the world to secure all of the Azran ruins.”

“You can do that?” Bronev didn’t answer. Layton switched the subject. “Why is Sycamore in your care?” Bronev rubbed his face.

“I made a mistake, is what I did.” Layton was silent, and motioned for Bronev to continue. The older man sighed. “I may have caused him to snap. He is unwilling to eat, sleep, and any questions I ask ultimately leads to a panic attack of sorts.”

Layton was speechless. At least, until the pieces clicked. “How did you manage to snap him?” Bronev seemed hesitant. Layton understood why once he answered.

“I… killed his surrogate father.” Layton blinked, and the dread in his stomach spiraled into horror.

“You did what?!” Bronev shook his head, pursing his lips. Layton stood. “Why would you do that?” Bronev was staring at his hands.

“I needed answers. He wasn’t giving them to me.” The men returned, and they gave Layton a warning glance as they set the tray down. Bronev continued. “This wasn’t my intention, you know. I just needed answers.” He looked up at Layton. “If you don’t want to help me, that is fine. I didn’t know who else to turn to. He was talking about you.”

Though Layton was still horrified, his curiosity grew. “He was?”

“He switched names with you when you were children. He wanted you to live, you were so young, he said. You were adopted by the Laytons in his stead.” Bronev watched as Layton sat back down, and he slid the tray over to the professor. Layton curled a hand around a teacup as he thought back.

That did sound familiar… small flashes of broken memories flickered through his mind. An older brother, with brick red eyes.

“Do you remember, Layton?” Bronev was looking at him with a frown.

“I believe I remember something of that sort.” Bronev nodded before looking back down at his hands.

“Boss.” Bronev looked up at the man who had entered the room. “We’re here.” The older man stood, and so did Layton.

“Thank you.” Bronev turned to Layton then. “Are you ready?” A hand made it’s way to Layton’s hat, and he pulled it down, straightening it.

“Of course.”


	6. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton actually manages to get Desmond to somewhat come back from the brink.

Hershel noticed the change in atmosphere as soon as he stepped out of the aircraft. The sky was cloudy and gray, the place that Hershel could only assume was a base of sorts covered in trash and metal scraps. He fell into step behind Bronev, more men and women stopping to stare at the professor as he walked past them. He couldn’t fathom why they seemed so surprised at his presence; did he have something on him? Bronev seemed to notice his discomfort.

“Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you. They only take orders from me.” Somehow, that didn’t calm Hershel’s nerves. “Just stay with me and you’ll be fine.”

They continued through the small base. They approached a large, black building. Bronev seemed to hesitate before stepping in and weaving through people and hallways, Layton following close behind before he stopped in front of a set of metal doors. The older man turned towards the professor, and Layton saw him give a large sigh.

“Desmond is in here. I will stay out here while you try to talk to him… take as much time as you need.” Layton managed to give Bronev a smile, nodding.

“Thank you.” Bronev just nodded, turning to a keypad next to the door and punching in a complicated set of numbers before the doors opened with a hiss. Layton cautiously stepped into the room, and his eyes fell onto the bed in the middle of the room.

Desmond was laying in the bed, his form motionless. There were straps lying at the foot of the bed, and Layton felt his stomach drop. Why were those there?

“Desmond…?” The man in front of him didn’t react; at least, not at first. Layton moved so that he could see the man’s face, and he could see the confusion, the fear spreading across Desmond’s face. Hershel could see the tears forming as Des’s eyebrows crinkled in frustration.

“Go away!” His voice was quiet and hoarse, and Layton could see the man’s cracked lips beginning to bleed. His eyes were large and glassy. “You… you aren’t real. Theodore would never be here, he wouldn’t. He can’t.” He could see the conflict in Des’s eyes as he sat up slowly, and Hershel saw the IV sticking out of his arm. His body had grown slight, and the skin clung onto his bones. He could even see the ribcage poking through his shirt, though just slightly. Desmond was looking at him, and it seemed fear was winning over his confusion and anger, his body beginning to shake as Layton stepped closer to the man.

“Don’t… don’t come any closer.” Des held out a hand, his expression contorting in terror. “Please. I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to be fake.” His voice was almost nonexistent, and as much as Hershel wanted to listen to the elder professor, he couldn’t leave him like this.

“I can assure you, Desmond, I am completely real.” He reached out a hand to touch Des’s outstretched one, and the red-eyed man clenched his eyes shut as Layton’s fingers brushed the palm of his hand. Desmond seemed to shrink in on himself before his eyes shot open when he realized what had happened. He stared at Hershel for the longest time, his breathing sharp and shallow. Tears began flowing down his cheeks as he gave a strangled sounding sob.

“Theodore, you’re….” He swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed.

“Don’t stand, Desmond. You are very weak.” But Desmond was listening. With more strength Hershel thought the man in front of him had, he stood on shaky feet and moved slowly towards the younger professor, his arms outstretched as his hands made their way to Layton’s face. He hissed as the IV in his arm was pulled, and with one solid, quick movement, he yanked it from his arm. Layton gave a surprised shout at that, and grabbed the man where the IV had been, the blood already beginning to bead at the bend of his arm. Desmond stared at the hand before his eyes moved up to Hershel’s face. The arm the younger professor had grabbed remained still, but his other one made its way to Layton’s ears, his eyes, his cheeks.

“Oh, my God,” Desmond breathed, his eyes wide in awe. “You’re actually real, oh, my God, you’re here.” The arm that had remained still turned itself so that that hand was gripping at Layton’s coat. “I thought… I’m so sorry. I must have been dreaming… are you… did you have a nightmare, Theodore?” Hershel frowned. This was new, Desmond’s voice sounding more and more like a young child’s. “Theo?” Desmond’s eyes radiated with concern.

“No, I’m fine.” Desmond sighed.

“Is there something you needed?” Layton noticed the door opening with a soft hiss, and two men came in with food, walking quickly and quietly as they placed the trays on the bed before turning and leaving.

“You need to eat.” Desmond blinked as the doors shut with another hiss.

“Why?”

“You are wasting away.” He tried to be as calm as possible, but it seemed Desmond was getting worked up again.

“Haven’t you eaten? Didn’t I feed you?”

“You are fine, Desmond.” Hershel guided Desmond to the bed, having him sit while he took out a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping it around the man’s arm. He reached for the food, grabbing a tray and placing it next to the red-eyed man. “Please, eat. I have food as well,” he added once Desmond opened his mouth to say something. Layton grabbed the other tray, and Desmond stared at him, eyes large as he grabbed a piece of bread from the tray and taking a careful bite. Hershel sighed. One obstacle down.

Bronev watched through the glass at the two. He couldn’t believe Desmond would listen to him, he thought it would fail, he thought he would have to….

No. He shook his head. He had managed to make remarkable progress with Desmond’s recovery, he was eating, and he was actually responding to sentences. It almost seemed like the two were having a normal conversation.

However, Bronev knew that was false. If he hadn’t seen how Des had acted beforehand, he never would have suspected, except one man was far too skinny and broken to be healthy.

He only hoped he could fix Desmond before it was too late.


	7. Thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton learns that Des needs more help than he thought, but Bronev is thankful that the professor is helping.

Layton stayed in the room with Desmond while he finished off his plate of food; though Desmond seemed starved, the way he ate said otherwise. He didn’t shovel the food into his mouth, like Hershel expected (he shouldn’t have even expected that in the first place), rather, he took his time, inspecting each and every piece of food he picked up before nibbling at it. His eyes never left Hershel the entire time they ate. It was as if Desmond was afraid he’d disappear if he did.

“Do you need some more food?” Desmond asked suddenly, and Layton looked down at his cleaned tray. He looked at Desmond’s still full tray, and realized that the elder man had eaten slowly just in case he had needed more. The thought sent a pang through Layton’s chest. Desmond spoke again as he set his leftover piece of biscuit on his tray. “I don’t need to eat much, I promise. If you need more, the tray is yours.” Layton immediately shook his head.

“No, I’m full. You finish your food.” Desmond pursed his lips together.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Eat.” Desmond stared at Hershel a moment longer, then turned to his tray again, picking up some discarded fruit. He nibbled at it once again. Layton tried thinking about things to say.

“Did you have anybody before you came here, Desmond?” The man looked at Hershel, confusion spreading across his face. Then, a sort of realization dawned on his face.

“I….” Desmond shook his head, the realization once again turning to confusion. “I’m not sure what you are talking about.” He seemed upset, and Layton quickly tried to back out.

“It’s fine, no worries. I’m just glad you’re safe.” Desmond smiled, though it was small and barely there.

“I’m glad you’re safe as well.” He placed his now empty tray to the side, and yawned. “Do you need to sleep, Theodore? It must be late.”

Again with the name. Theodore. Hershel understood, however, and, though he didn’t need sleep, he nodded. Desmond blinked before yawning again.

“Come here then. It was raining the last few days, I know how you hate the thunder.”

Hershel had gotten over that fear a few years back, though it did have a tendency of returning at the most inopportune moments. He just nodded again, and laid next to his brother. Desmond wrapped an arm around Hershel’s shoulder, and pulled him closer.

“I will keep you safe, Theodore.” Desmond’s voice had the hint of a smile.

“I know you will.” The red-eyed man hummed, and went silent, his other arm moving to stroke the professor’s hair. He had taken off his hat during their meal; it rested at the end of the bed. The movements were oddly comforting, and Des began humming a tune that was all too familiar to the professor, though how, exactly, he wasn’t sure. He waited until his brother’s movements slowed, then stopped, his humming trailing off. Layton waited a moment longer, then slowly slid out from the man’s grasp, grabbing his top hat and placing it on his head once more. He looked at Des as he did so.

The man looked better than when he had first arrived, though not by much. His skin had started to gain a bit of it’s natural color, his breathing steady and deep. He turned to the door as it opened with a soft hiss; Bronev stood there, his eyebrows raised in what the professor could only assume was shock.

“You managed to do so much in only a small amount of time.” Bronev motioned for the professor to follow him, and he did so. The door closed behind him as he exited. Bronev turned to look at him, and Layton could see very familiar eyes looking at him from where he could see behind the glasses. They looked like Desmond’s eyes.

“I’m very thankful you came here, Layton. He seems to have recovered quite a bit today, and that was only a couple hours with you. Imagine how much better he’ll be tomorrow.” Layton gave a small smile and nodded.

“It was my pleasure to help.” Bronev actually returned his smile, his lips turning upwards just barely.

“You may have to stay here a few more days, until he realizes what’s going on. I can provide you with anything you wish. Just let me know.” Layton nodded once again.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Theodore?” Both men looked at the door; it seemed Desmond had woken from his cat nap. “Theodore, where’d you go…?” The man’s voice, though muffled, was laced through and through with fear and worry.

Bronev was already punching in the key to open the door, and Layton stepped through once the door slid open.

“Theodore, where were you?” Desmond was in front of him as soon as the door opened, and he gripped at Layton’s sleeves with complete panic. “I woke up and you weren’t there. I thought…. I thought….” Large tears made their way down his face. Layton didn’t think about his next movement; he just wrapped his arms around the man, pulling him into a tight embrace. Desmond stiffened before he gripped Layton’s arms tighter as he gave a quiet sob into the younger man’s shoulder. Layton slowly moved his arms in soft circles around the man’s back; it was a tactic he used when Luke came to him with nightmares.

“I am here now, and I promise I won’t leave you without telling you, Desmond.”

Bronev again watched the interaction between the two brothers. His hands clenched into fists. He had broken the older one. The younger one was now caring for him. Theodore was taking care of Hershel.

He shook his head as old emotions threatened to rise. He couldn’t spare a single thought to anything but the tasks at hand.

He would let himself regain those lost emotions later, but for now he had to be the leader of Targent.


	8. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Des finally remembers who he is with, and a certain leader of Targent has to ruin everything again.

It was taking a long time to get Desmond back, but Bronev could see flashes of the man he had snapped return slowly each and every time he would talk with Layton. The younger professor would come out of the cell every once in a while, and at first Bronev made small, idle talk with him. Who knew when Desmond would realize he was gone; they had to keep it short.

After Layton managed to get Desmond to sleep again, Bronev opened the door and motioned for him to come here. The professor did, his mouth turned into a puzzled frown.

“What is it?”

“I feel like now is the time to ask him some questions.” Layton’s frown straightened as he pursed his lips.

“That would not be wise, Bronev.” Layton thought for a moment, then finally asked,” What do you want to ask him?” Bronev placed a hand under his chin.

“If you believe it is unwise… we could always start asking him about his childhood before working up to the present times.”

“What exactly are you planning to do with him once he gets better?” Layton was staring at him with narrowed eyes. Bronev quickly grabbed an excuse.

“He is working for us now.”

“You killed his father, Bronev.”

“That was merely an accident.” Layton shook his head.

“You cannot simply just kill someone on accident. You said you needed answers, which is why you killed him in the first place.” Bronev frowned.

“He was researching the Azran, and he refused to give us answers when we asked him.” Layton shook his head.

“You cannot kill someone because someone isn’t giving you answers.” Layton paused. “What exactly is this organization? Are any of the people here working here willingly?”

“I can assure you.” Bronev let his voice grow sharp, an undertone of danger making Layton frown. “I will disband this organization once I gain the Azran Legacy.” The professor’s frown grew deeper, but he didn’t say anything else. Bronev continued. “I want you to ask him about Raymond.”

“Wh --”

“He was his father.” Bronev cut Layton off before the first syllable left his mouth. “Once he wakes up, you must ask him. We need to see if he will acknowledge it.” Layton stared at him for a moment, then shook his head.

“I can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“I would never allow myself to do that.” Layton was staring at him with a knowing gaze. “One must always respect others.” Bronev snarled.

“You will ask him!”

“I won’t.” Layton didn’t even raise his voice, his tone remaining soft and gentle. “I can’t knowingly do that to him.”

“Layton, --” Bronev cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. Layton was Desmond’s only tie to the world around him. He couldn’t let his anger control him. “Fine.” Layton pursed his lips.

“Thank you.” Layton motioned to the door. “He’s probably going to wake up soon. Please let me back in.” Bronev just nodded, already turning to the keypad. The doors once again slid open, and Layton stepped through and towards the bed in the middle of the room.

Layton gazed at the red-eyed man as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed. Desmond had began to sleep for longer and longer since in his care, and the food he had been eating was starting to make his skin not look so sunken and ashen. He looked towards the door, biting his lip as he thought about what Bronev had asked him to say.

He knew what it was like to lose someone. He had lost Claire. He still couldn’t talk about her without breaking down. How could Bronev want him to ask such a question? He hadn’t known what he was doing before, when he had asked Desmond about who was with him. He looked down at Desmond as he started to stir.

“Theodore?” He mumbled as he looked up at the younger professor. “What are you doing up?”

“Desmond.” Layton could see the worry flickering across the man’s face. “Do you understand where we are?”

“Aren’t we at home?” Desmond sat up. He gave a soft smile after a moment. “Are you pretending?”

“No. Look around.” Desmond did so, and his face fell into confusion. Layton suddenly remembered something.

“Hershel.” Desmond’s reaction was immediate; his face went pale as he shot up in bed.

“What did you say?”

“Hershel.” The name left Layton’s mouth naturally. “Do you remember what happened?” Desmond appeared to be panicking now, his eyes flashing in recognition.

“Layton?” He said, his voice deep as his eyes sharpened. Layton recognized the voice, and was shocked. Des shot out of his bed, his eyes sharpening even more. Layton jumped up as well, Des’s breathing coming out in harsh breaths. “What are you doing here?!” Layton held up his hands.

“Don’t worry, Professor. I am only here to help you.”

“‘Professor’...?” One of his hands made its way to his face, where it brushed against his nose. His eyes widened. “Where’s my mask?!”

“Professor, please --” Des looked around, his eyes narrowing.

“Where are we, Layton?” The professor frowned, and was opening his mouth to answer when the door behind him opened with a soft hiss. Des looked past Layton, and his expression contorted into an absolutely miffed one. Layton turned as Bronev stepped into the cell, his mouth set into a straight line. There was a blur of movement as Des stepped in between the professor and the leader of Targent.

“Desmond… or is it Descole right now…? I see you’re back.” Bronev took a step towards the two men in the room, and Layton saw Des tense in front of him.

“You stay away from us.” Des turned to Layton then, his eyes narrowed and sharp. “How are you here, Layton? How’d you get here? How’d we get here?” Professor Layton bit his lip as he thought of a response.

“Descole.” The man turned back to Bronev. “Do you remember what happened at the chamber at Monte d’Or?” Des grit his teeth before his body tensed even more.

“Raymond….” Layton was sure that the man’s body couldn’t coil any further, but it did. “Where is Raymond?” Bronev was silent as the words were spoken. Layton reached out to touch Des, his worry mounting.

“Professor.” Layton didn’t want to tell him, but he knew Des needed to know. If he couldn’t remember, he would have to tell him. The man in front of him flinched.

“What is it, Layton?”

“It’s about Raymond.” Des had his full attention on him now.

“Spit it out, Layton.”

“He died.”


	9. Give Me Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond remembers fully, Hershel has had enough of Bronev's shit, and Bronev is calling for even more assistance.

The room fell silent as the words left Hershel’s mouth. The already heavy tension only grew, Des’s expression falling into confusion. He looked deeply into Layton’s eyes, searching for any clarification in the younger professor’s now sympathetic expression.

Then, it seemed to click. Des’s eyes widened, the sharpness in them fading to something softer. Hershel watched the man in front of him relax -- rather, he went limp where he stood.

“...What?” He finally whispered, his voice no longer harsh and sharp -- Layton realized that he was no longer speaking to Descole, his rival for the past two years. He saw the way the man looked at him now. This was Desmond now. Layton could see Bronev’s expression shift as Des uttered the word; the younger professor saw the older man’s hands clench into fists as he gave a smug grin. Des spoke again, his voice not much louder than a whisper.

“...He’s dead?” Layton pursed his lips together before nodding. “How…. How do you know that?”

Desmond was staring at him, his gaze large and watery. Layton opened his mouth to speak again; Bronev cut him off, stepping forward.

“I told him.” Desmond flinched again, turning towards the leader of Targent. Bronev cast a look at Layton (or at least, he was sure he did) before spreading his hands out. “I brought him here to help you.”

“Wh…” Desmond shot Layton such a hurt and panicked look the younger professor stepped back, and his legs bumped against the hospital bed. “You… he… you listened to him? You came when... Don’t you know who he is, Hershel?”  
“He --” Desmond shook his head, his eyes even larger, tears streaming down his face.

“He is the leader of an organization that will kill to get what they want!” Desmond crouched, clasping his head in his hands. “He killed them, he killed Raymond, he killed our mother by researching this godforsaken civilization!” Layton sank to his knees once Des started yanking at his hair, tearing at his scalp with his nails. Layton gripped the man’s wrists, pulling them away from his head. Desmond shrank away, his eyes flashing with fear.

“Professor, please….”

“You don’t understand, Hershel.” Desmond’s voice was a broken whisper. “You can’t. Bronev won’t let you go now. You know too much. The… the only reason I managed to stay out of their organization was because they taught me a lesson. They are gone now. Everybody in my life is  gone.” Layton shot Bronev a glance as he tried to calm the man in front of him down. Desmond’s breathing had grown shaky, and Layton released one of the man’s wrists to place his now free hand on a shoulder.

“Desmond. I understand.”

“You don’t. You didn’t lose someone beca --”

“Desmond. I did.” Layton didn’t want to make old memories resurface, but if it helped calm Desmond down, then he would. The red-eyed man was staring at him, his body trembling.

“Enough of this.” Bronev pulled Desmond up by the collar of his shirt. The man began to struggle, his breathing coming out in terrified pants. Bronev pulled him close, and Layton shot up, his own panic growing. “Tell me, Desmond. Tell me what you know about the Azran. Now.”

“I… I….” Desmond’s eyes were wide, his chest heaving. “Put me down…! Please!”

“Bronev!” Layton placed a hand on Bronev’s arm, and the man looked at him, his teeth clenched. “Stop it.” Desmond was clawing at the man’s wrist, his face pale and his hands shaking.

“Please… please…,” Desmond gasped out. Even though Bronev wasn’t choking him, he may as well have been.  
“You will answer me when I ask you a question!” Layton couldn’t see this anymore. Steeling himself, he curled a hand into a fist before swinging at Bronev’s face. The leader of Targent made a surprised sound before releasing Desmond. The man fell to the floor before backpeddling, pressing himself against the hospital bed. Tears were sreaming down his face, his mouth wide open. Bronev rubbed his jaw before looking at Layton with a neutral expression. Layton backed up, placing an arm in front of Desmond.

“I’m sorry I had to do that, Bronev.” The apology sounded hollow in Layton’s ears, his mind whirling at what he’d just done. “But now is not the time. Leave him alone.” Bronev raked a hand through his hair before sighing and turning on his heel. Layton could see the stiffness in his movements; he was trying not to lose it, to snap, to hurt both of the men in the room. The door closed with a hiss that seemed loud in the silence.

“You….” Layton turned back to Desmond. The man was looking at him with more panic than before. “How… you….” The man swallowed before speaking again. “You shouldn’t have done that. He’s… going to hurt you… I… I can’t….” Layton took a seat next to Desmond, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I’m going to be okay. What he was doing was uncalled for. What he’s done was uncalled for.” Desmond shook his head.

“He’s not… he’s not going to stop…!” His voice was a panicked yell at this point. “He’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants! Don’t you understand this, Hershel?”

“I do, Desmond. I really do. I’m sorry I came here.” Desmond looked at him, his expression contorted into fear and anguish.

“He’s going to kill you for doing that to him.”

“He won’t.”

“He’s killed before.” Desmond’s voice was trembling. “He’ll kill again.”

“I know.”

“You are the last person who’s alive that I care about.” Desmond grimaced as the sentence left his mouth. “If he… if he kills you, I….”

“It will be okay, Desmond.” Desmond shook his head before looking down at his hands.

“It won’t. Never has been.”

\-----

Bronev frowned as he looked at the two, a hand still on the area where Layton had punched him. The Targent men that had witnessed the scene were looking at their leader like he’d grown an extra head.

He shook his head, giving a soft snarl. If he was going to get any sort of cooperation, he needed something else. He turned to the phone on the desk, next to the microphone. He picked it up, and dialed the all too familiar number.

“Hello?”

“You need to come back.” The line was silent for a moment.

“What happened?”

“I have your target. There is no need to continue with the act.”

“That’s where he --”

“Just come back, Emmeline. I’ll explain later.”

“....Alright. I’ll be there as soon as I can, Uncle Leon.”


	10. Convincing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Des is still being ignorant about other people's lives, and Emmy is on her way.

Emmy's hands shook as she hung up the phone. Her uncle, her boss, had Layton? How? How did he manage to --? 

"Emmy?" She was brought out of her thoughts by Luke. The boy was staring at her with a frown. "Who was it?" Emmy shook her head, giving a shaky smile. 

"No one important, Luke." He wrung his hands together. 

"Was it about the professor?" Her heart leapt into her throat. Luke continued when he got no answer. "Who is 'Uncle Leon'? Emmy, what's going on?" Emmy sighed, kneeling to Luke's level as she placed her hands on his shoulders. 

"Luke, you should go home to your parents until I get the professor back." The boy shook his head. 

"If you're going to the professor, I'll come too!" 

"No." Luke frowned at Emmy's objection. 

"It's dangerous, Luke." 

"If it's somewhere dangerous, I need to be there with the professor!" 

"Luke." Emmy's voice had turned shaky, and Luke's eyes widened slightly. "I need you to stay. Please." Who knew what Leon would have her do. Luke, at the very least, needed to be safe for sure. 

"Emmy. I'll be fine." Luke gave a smile, seeming to reassure both her and himself. "Please. Let me come." 

Emmy couldn't let herself allow this. If she cared for Luke at all, she would have him stay. She couldn't let him come with her to Targent. To Leon. Emmy blinked rapidly as tears threatened to spill. She had seen what happened to Leon after Rachel passed. She was one of the only children allowed in the organization, she had seen Rachel Bronev's decline in health; her death impacted her deeply, and she could only watch as Bronev rose through the ranks, using any method needed to further his research. She couldn't fathom why killing was alright, she had helped take care of the people who had lost everything…. Really, she was the only one who truly did so.

"You won't, Luke." Luke crossed his arms, frustration slowly growing in his expression.

“I don’t care, Emmy!” Emmy could feel her own frustration growing.

“Luke, you’re acting like a child!” The boy huffed.

“I need to help the professor!”

“You can help him by staying home!”

“I need to be there if there’s a puzzle he can’t solve!”

“Luke, this is a life or death situation!” Emmy didn’t realize what she said until Luke’s expression grew into shock. She sighed, clenching her hands into fists. She could feel the warmth of tears trailing down her face as she ground her teeth together. “I can’t… I can’t let you come with me. You could get hurt. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” Luke looked at her with his own set of misty eyes.

“Emmy. Please.”

“No. I can’t. If I let you come with me, Uncle Bronev --” She shook her head. “I….”

“Where is the professor?”

“I… I can’t say….” Emmy looked down at the floorboards. Luke looked at her for a long moment before looking down as well.

“Alright…. Just bring back the professor. Please?”

“I’ll… I’ll try my best.” There was a lengthy pause.

“...Emmy?” She looked at Luke, and the boy was still staring at the floor.

“What is it, Luke?”

“Come back safe, too.” Emmy felt a pang as the words were spoken. She couldn’t promise him that she would come back at all. If she went against her uncle in any way…. She had already witnessed what happened when someone went against his wishes. She was terrified of what he would do to her. She had heard the story of what he had done to his own son, how he had been beaten for all he had, taking his wife and daughter as payment for his refusal.

“Emmy?” She smiled, the motion feeling forced.

“I’ll try my best to come back as well.”

~~~~~

“Professor.” Layton watched as the man paced the cell for what seemed to be the millionth time, his eyes searching. Layton still hadn’t moved from his spot on the ground near the hospital bed. “You need to rest, you’ve been walking around for a long time.” The man whirled on him.

“Layton, I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of the situation we are in.” The younger professor gave a soft huff.

“Well, I don’t exactly see a way out of the situation we are in currently.” Which wasn’t a lie. He had had a lot of time to look around the cell. The only thing that could serve as some sort of escape route was the air vent, but it was far too small for either men to fit in. “It appears we won’t be let out for a while yet, Professor. It would be best to save your energy.”

“Layton.” Des was in front of him, his eyes sharp. Layton looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You are not proving to be a formidable opponent to Targent.”

“There are no escape routes. The only escape is through the door, which is heavily guarded.”

“Desmond.” Both men looked up at the speakers in the room. Layton could see Des’s hands curl into fists.

“What do you want?!”

“I only want answers, Desmond. If you give me answers, I will leave you alone.”

“Like hell I’ll do that!”

“Professor.” Layton stood. “It would be unwise to refuse him.”

“Listen to Layton, Desmond.” Bronev’s voice carried a noticeable sneer. Desmond cast an irritated glance at the professor.

“Whose side are you on, Layton?”

“Now listen to me carefully, Desmond. What have you uncovered about the Azran?”

“I know just about as much as you do. Now leave me alone.”

“Your ability to figure out the locations of the legacies before us suggests that you know something we do not. Now, my suggestion for you is that you tell the truth.” The doors opened with a hiss, and Layton felt the guns trained on him before he saw them. His blood turned cold as Des cast a worried glance in his direction.

“You wouldn’t kill your own son, Bronev.” Layton’s mind was whirling as he processed this information. The guns that were pointing at him didn’t move.

“I… I beg your pardon?” The professor whispered.

“Answer the question, Desmond.” Desmond looked from Layton to the speakers to the men with the guns.

“Bronev, please. Lower the guns.”

“Not until you answer the question.”

“Leave Theodore out of this.”

“Now, now, this was your fault for letting it get to this point. The people you cared about would still be alive if you just cooperated.”

“Bronev, please!” The speakers were silent. Des looked at Layton, the fear written plainly on his features. The younger professor wanted to comfort him, but he was terrified as well. The guns were still trained on him. Bronev’s voice came on the speakers again.

“Grab Layton. Go ahead with the procedure I went over with you.”

Desmond immediately stepped in between the now advancing men and Layton.

“You’ve gone mad!” The red-eyed man shouted to the speakers. The men easily pushed Des out of the way, and the man stumbled before attempting to lunge himself at the men. Two men broke away from the small group and gripped Des’s arms. The man kicked and struggled, looking on in panic as the men surrounded Layton, easily overpowering him. The younger professor didn’t even fight as they grabbed him and started to lead him to the exit. He looked over at Des, the man panicking and struggling even more.

“I’m only doing what I have to, Desmond,” Bronev said. “I won’t kill him, but he certainly won’t be… unscathed, if you don’t cooperate.”


	11. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond sees an opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! There's an OC, his name is Nate and was created by both me and @fincherly :)

Layton hadn’t reacted until Bronev said that. The younger professor now realized (with a start) that Bronev had only been courteous (was that really the right word?) to him because Desmond needed to come back enough to give the answers they needed.

Layton began struggling as they approached the exit of what seemed to be the only safe room in the facility. The men escorting him weren’t prepared for the professor to fight, and they loosened their grip on him momentarily before they gripped his arms and lifted him off the floor. Layton kicked his legs wildly, his mind completely disregarding every last gentlemanly thing he knew. It was screaming at him now, complete terror gripping him as he thought of what would happen once they left the room.

The professor could hear Desmond struggling from somewhere beyond his vision. The men around him were speaking to him in hurried tones, telling him if he calmed down, it wouldn’t be as bad.

“Now, now, Layton. Where are your manners?” Layton felt his panic growing even more at Bronev’s voice. He thrashed wildly, and felt his leg connect with something. There was a soft grunt as he was dropped to the floor. The professor felt himself trying to scramble backwards before he was picked up and pinned against the wall behind him. A pair of hands wrapped around his neck, and Layton gave a sharp yelp of fear as he clawed at the hands.

\-----

“Theodore!” Layton’s struggling was becoming weaker; his eyes were rolling into the back of his head as his body went limp. Desmond felt his anger bubbling over his fear. He reacted in the only way he knew might get him loose, his mind sharpening as his eyes narrowed.

He turned sharply, throwing the men who were holding him off guard. He yanked himself loose from one man before grabbing the other and throwing him across the room. The man’s gun flew from his hand and landed in front of Des. He stooped, snatched it, and rushed over to where Layton was being held against the wall.

“Don’t worry about Layton anymore!” Bronev yelled across the speakers. “Desmond has a gun!” As the words carried from the speakers and into the room, Desmond pointed the weapon at the man holding Layton and fired. The man crumpled as blood sprayed, and the professor dropped to the floor next to him. Before the other men could react -- they were scrambling, their hands fretting about them to find their weapon holsters -- he had scooped up Layton, tossed him over his shoulder, and ran, firing more bullets at the men who were blocking his way.

Desmond’s mind was clear, focused, as he ran through hallways and corridors. His gun was trained in front of him. Bronev’s voice crackled around him.

“Prisoner 1B has escaped! Repeat, 1B has escaped! He is armed. Neutralize, but don’t kill. Repeat, do not kill.” Desmond threw open a set of doors, and found himself outside, his vision temporarily blinded by the natural light. He looked around, his gaze falling on the aircraft around him. His mind was screaming at him to continue running. He adjusted his grip on Layton’s body as he opened the door to a helicopter. Starting it up, he laid Layton and the gun he still had in the area behind the cockpit before he gripped at the joystick and lifting off. He quickly turned off the tracking device that he knew for sure was there; he couldn’t afford to get caught. As long as Desmond got somewhere far enough that Targent couldn’t track him, he’d be safe. Layton would be safe.

He let his instinct drive him through the sky, and soon enough, he found himself landing, the sun starting to set and casting warm colors around him. He cut off the engine before turning to the still unconscious professor. He could see the bruises blooming across Layton’s neck, and Desmond felt a pang of worry as he scooped the man up and tossed him over his shoulder again, grabbing the gun next to his foot. He threw open the door and jumped out.

He looked around, his mind already registering where he was before he saw the small home. Des couldn't help the relief spreading through his body as he ran across the field he had landed in. He approached the door, and he saw the steady streams of light filtering in through the blinds.

He could feel Layton beginning to stir, a soft groan slipping past the younger professor’s lips as Desmond kicked the door in front of him. He carefully placed Layton on the porch next to the door as he heard muffled cursing and movement from inside the house.

“Des --” Layton winced as he tried to speak, his voice hoarse. The red-eyed man shushed him quickly.

“Don’t speak. You’re safe. We’re safe.” Layton shut his eyes, taking a deep breath as the door opened.

“Des?!” The red-eyed man looked up at the person who now stood in the doorway, fighting the tears that suddenly wanted to stream down his face. The gun that had remained gripped in Des’s hand fell to the porch with a loud clatter. The man knelt down, looking into Desmond’s eyes deeply.

“What happened to you?” Desmond shook his head.

“No, Nate. Please… not now.”

“I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.” Nate jumped as Layton decided to make himself known then, giving a shaky cough. He looked from the younger professor to Desmond. “Why is Layton here?” Desmond gave a strangled-sounding sob that made Nate immediately reach out to him, his eyebrows crinkled, mouth turned into a worried frown. “Hey, hey, Des. It’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s over. Let’s get you and the professor inside. Does that sound okay?”

Desmond couldn’t do anything but nod, his body trembling and tears streaming down his face from all the emotions that were currently overwhelming him. Nate stood, extending a hand to the red-eyed man. After Desmond was on his feet, Nate stooped down to pick up the discarded gun. He turned to Layton next.

“Can you stand? Do you need help?” The professor opened his eyes after a long moment.

“I… believe I may need some help.” Nate just nodded and extended a hand to the man on the ground. Layton reached for it with a shaky arm, and Nate helped pull him to his feet.  
When Layton stood up fully, he wobbled, and the professor shot out an arm, to stabilize himself. Nate made a sound that Des couldn’t quite place before the dark-haired man helped Layton sling an arm around his shoulders. The younger professor’s head drooped.

“Can you tell me what’s hurt? Is it serious?” Layton didn’t respond for a moment.

“Throat.” Nate cast a glance in Des’s direction.

“Were you choked? How bad is it?” He couldn’t see the purple bruising from his angle, the professor’s coat collar in the way. Layton nodded.

“Let’s go inside. I’ll be able to see and assess the damage better.” Nate motioned for Desmond to follow him as he entered the living room. “Desmond, you can go upstairs if you don’t have any wounds. There’s a bathroom, second door on the left. You can freshen up there.” Nate was laying Layton on the couch.

“But --” Nate glanced at him.

“The professor will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” He turned to Layton. “Can I take off your jacket?”

Layton nodded, and Nate started to remove the article of clothing that was keeping him from seeing Layton’s neck. Nate’s eyes shot open wide. He looked at Desmond.

“What happened to him?” Des could see the dark purple making a distinct ring around Layton’s neck. Nate tried again. “What did you get yourself into?” The red-eyed man still didn’t answer, his concentration, his focus, on the bruise on Layton’s neck. He could feel the panic starting to grip him as the reality of what happened finally managed to sink in.

Layton almost died. Layton -- Theodore, almost died. Not only did Layton almost die, but he almost died to another of Desmond’s quick and irrational decisions.

\-----

Nate felt the change in atmosphere almost instantly. He looked from Layton to the now panicking man in front of him. What was he supposed to do? He raked a hand through his dark hair, his worry for Desmond growing.

They had met when a certain masked individual went asking for help; the pay was well worth putting on a costume and playing the part Des had wanted him to. It was quite simple: look for any straggling contestants on the Crown Petone, then Ambrosia, and made sure the losers got back to the mainland safely. Des had made that point multiple times; no one was to get hurt. It was all an act.

Nate also happened to be an engineer, and so he was more than happy to lend his assistance to Des when needed. He had helped in the creation of the Detragigant, and he and Des had managed to form a loving kind of relationship in that time. He had been there when Raymond had been absolutely beside himself as they waited for Des to return to the rendezvous point. He had been worried too, and he had tried to help calm down --

Wait. Where was Raymond?

Nate shot to his feet as Desmond collapsed to the floor, his breathing quick and harsh. He gave a quick apology to Layton, the professor just nodding as Nate rushed to Des’s side. He cupped the man’s face in his hands.

“Des.” The red-eyed man was shivering violently. “Des, hey. Sh-h-h. It’s going to be okay.” Nate moved a hand from Desmond’s face to stroke his hair. “Just leave what happened before as a memory. You aren’t there.” He certainly wasn’t as good at comforting Des as Raymond was. Nate felt a pang of grief shoot through him. Raymond had been as kind to him as he had been to everyone else.

Des seemed to be recovering, though his shaking didn’t cease. Nate gave a reassuring smile.

“There we go. Just focus on your breathing, just focus on my voice.” Desmond breathed in deeply. “That’s it.”

They sat there for a while as Des’s breathing began to even out. Nate continued to stroke the man’s hair, the motions helping to soothe Nate as much as it did Des.

“Let’s get you to bed. Okay?” Nate stood, and helped Desmond to his feet once again. He helped guide him up the stairs and down the hallway to the guest bedroom when Des shoved him against the wall. Before Nate could process what had happened, lips were on his, a tongue swiping hungrily against his lips.

Nate pushed him away. “What the hell?!” Desmond was staring at him with wide eyes. “You are not in the right state of mind to be doing this!”

Des retaliated. “I need to forget! I need to…!” Tears streamed down his face. Nate shook his head.

“I am not doing anything like that until you tell me what’s going on.” Des’s face went completely blank. Nate shook his head again. “I’m sorry.” Desmond didn’t respond. Nate stepped forward and began leading him to the guest room once more.

\-----

Emmy arrived at the Nest to find it in total chaos. She recognized the code as it was spoken over the intercom.

Someone had escaped.

“Emmeline.” She turned towards the voice.

“What’s going on, Uncle Leon?” Bronev was visibly fuming as he approached her.

“Desmond Sycamore has escaped the facility with Layton.” Emmy couldn't help the relief that spread through her body.

It disappeared immediately when Bronev spoke again. “I’m counting on you to bring them back.”


	12. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond isn't doing as well as Nate thought he'd be doing. What exactly happened to him and Hershel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, sexual content will be a thing. I will be updating tags soon.

Nate knocked on the door to his guest room gently.

“Desmond, you’ve been in there for a couple days now. You need to eat, please.” After he had escorted Des to his spare bedroom, he had locked himself in there. Layton had taken up residence on his couch, the purple bruising around his neck had seemed to only get worse. Nate knew that wounds like that would get worse before they finally started healing, but as it was, he hadn’t gotten any sleep caring for his unexpected visitors -- well, visitor, currently.

It hurt too much for Layton to speak at this point, so Nate let him be while he recovered. At least Layton was in the right state of mind to take care of himself; his concerns could be focused primarily on Des.

He could hear the shuffling of bed sheets from the other side of the door. He knocked again.

“Desmond, I can bring you some food. Please, you need to eat.” He jumped back at the loud thud on the door.

“Go away!”

“You need to take care of yourself.” He was acting like a child. Nate frowned. “I’ll break down this door if you don’t open it right now.”

“Leave me alone, Nate!” The dark-haired man huffed.

“Look, Desmond. I can help you.” The other man was silent. “I realize you’re in pain, you’re hurt, but you need to talk to me so I know how to help.”

The door opened after a moment. Nate couldn’t help the sweep of relief that overtook him as Des stood in the doorway. The red-eyed man was disheveled, upset, but he was there. They looked at each other for a long moment.

“You know how to help, Nate.” There were tears streaming down Desmond’s face. “You know how I relax. How I forget.”

“Des, no.” Nate kept his voice gentle. “That is not a healthy way to go about thi --”

“What else am I supposed to do?!” Desmond ground his teeth together. “How else am I going to forget, Nate?!”

“Forgetting is not the answer right now.” Desmond went still; Nate needed him to understand. “If you tell me what happen --”

“I-I can’t.” Desmond began to shake in the doorway. “I-If I do, I-I’ll break -- I’ll break again --”

“I’ll be here if you do. I promise.” Nate walked slowly towards Des; the man shrunk away. “It’ll be okay now. I promise.”

“I….” Des swallowed thickly. “I c-can’t. I c-can’t remember… I can’t remember much o-of….” Nate placed a hand on Des’s cheek; the simple action stopping Desmond from breaking down again. He used a thumb to brush away the tears.

“It’s okay,” Nate said again. “It’s okay now, Desmond. You’re safe. So is your brother.” Desmond relaxed some; his hands moving to Nate’s shoulders. Des leaned in, placing a quick peck on Nate’s lips.

“Nate -- can we -- I mean --”

“No, Des. You still need to recover --”

“Just this one time?” Nate sighed. Desmond wasn’t going to let this go. He wanted to do this.

“Desmond --”

“I promise I won’t ask again. Please.” Nate gave a deeper sigh, then stepped closer.

“Fine. If you’ll talk afterwards.” Desmond just nodded, relief spreading across his face. Nate sighed again, weighing his options. He couldn’t exactly take this the way Desmond wanted him to. He couldn’t do that to him; he was still recovering.

He pressed his lips gently against Des’s; the other man pressed himself against him, a sigh of relief leaving him. Nate’s jaw worked slowly, languidly, while Desmond’s was quick, sporadic. Desmond tried to grab Nate’s face, tried to pull him closer, but Nate grabbed his arms and gently brought them back down. Nate was pushed away in that moment.

“No!” Desmond’s voice was high pitched, desperate. Nate stared at Desmond’s expression, could feel his heart breaking. “W-Why… What happened to before, Nate? Why -- Why do this now?”

“Desmond,” Nate started, “I cannot do this the way we normally do. I care about you.” He could feel the tension in the air grow thicker as the words left his mouth. Desmond was silent for a long moment.

“I don’t feel the same way about you, Nate. Why would I even --? I don’t want anything else out of this relationship.” Nate felt his breathing hitch; how could Desmond --

“Why come here then?!” He shouted the words before he could process them.

“W-Wha --”

“If you don’t care, as you say… then why come here, which shows that you obviously care and trust me, with something as important to you as taking care of your brother?” He saw the way Des froze. How his expression shifted from frustration, to panic, to terror.

“I-I --” Des’s body trembled violently, tensing. “I-I -- I can’t do this.” Before Nate could process what happened, Des had pushed passed him, running down the stairs and out the door.

“Desmond!” Nate’s heart dropped as he ran towards the door. He saw Layton bolt upright out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t care less. Desmond was running, he needed to catch him.

Desmond was fast, but Nate caught up to him nonetheless, tackling him to the ground. The man underneath him gave a loud, terrified shriek as he bucked wildly.

“Get off! GET OFF!” Des’s voice was laced through and through with complete, animalistic panic as Nate held him down. “GET OFF OF ME!”

A new hand joined the mix, stroking Desmond’s hair. How did Layton --?

“Desmond.” Layton’s hoarse, pained voice cracked. “It’s okay. We aren’t… there.” The red-eyed man didn’t seem to hear the professor, his screaming growing louder as he flailed his head, trying to bite, to scratch, to do anything that would set him free. Layton pursed his lips, and didn’t say anything more; he continued to stroke Des’s hair as the screaming and sobbing slowly began to falter. Nate could only watch in horror and pity as Desmond’s struggles grew weaker.

What had happened to him…?

The panic Desmond was feeling was unreal; it only grew the longer Nate held him down. Or was it just another Targent mole? He wasn’t sure anymore. All he knew was that he was back in that cell, that empty white cell, being held down, his struggling beginning to cease. He could taste the blood in the back of his throat -- he had torn his throat from his screams.

He was being picked up now; he didn’t have the energy to fight back anymore. He -- he couldn’t --

“What happened to him?” Nate looked over at Layton as he set Desmond down on the couch. “You know what happened. Tell me -- please.”

“I --” Layton winced. “I can’t --” Nate’s expression went flat; he turned back to Desmond, who had begun to shake and whimper again, and began to stroke his hair.

“Fine.”

\-----

“How is your search coming along?”

“It’s going fine, Uncle Leon.” Emmy looked down at the speaker in the airplane. “I don’t have any leads yet, but I have an idea of where they may be.”

“You better, Emmeline. Do not disappoint me.”

“I won’t.”

“I need them back as soon as possible; we need to secure the Azran legacy.”

“Of course.” Emmy heard the click as Bronev hung up. She gave a large sigh, then moved a hand to the number pad by the speaker.

“Hello?”

“This is Emmy Altava, the professor’s assistant. Is Luke there, Mr. Triton?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Can I speak to him?”

“Of course.” Emmy gave a shaky sigh.

“Emmy? Have you --”

“No. I haven’t found him yet.” Emmy pursed her lips. “Where do you think he’d be?”

“I don’t know.” Luke’s voice was quiet. “I don’t… know.”

“It’s okay, Luke.” Emmy’s voice went quiet. “I’ll get him back. I promise.”

“Emmy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I come with you?” Emmy froze.

“No, Luke. It’s too --”

“I don’t care, Emmy! The professor is in danger!”

“Luke --”

“If you won’t let me come with you, I’ll look for him myself.” Emmy grit her teeth. Luke couldn’t do that. It was too dangerous.

“....Alright.”


	13. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate finally gets an explanation.

“Is he still out of it?” Nate glanced over at Layton from his position near Nate on the couch. Ever since they had carried Desmond back a few hours ago, he had been motionless, silent, save for the occasional twitch and whimper. His eyes had opened at one point, but they were empty, dull.

Desmond Sycamore was lost in his own mind.  
Nate finally nodded. “He’s… never had an attack this severe… at least not since I met him.”

Layton raised an eyebrow. “How long…?” It still hurt him to speak. It was awful -- for all things considered, he should be dead. Desmond had saved him at the last moment. His windpipe should have been crushed. It certainly felt crushed. His throat had never felt this bad since….

Nate didn’t look at the professor when he spoke next. “How long have we known each other?” His voice was quiet. Layton hummed.

“If I tell you, can you please tell me what happened to him?” Layton hummed again. Nate sighed.

“I was one of his followers during the Ambrosia incident. That was the first time we had really interacted.” Layton tilted his head, opened his mouth. “I was only interested in it for the money, at first. I was going to Gressenheller, I was pursuing my interests as an engineer. Raymond… he was the one who came to me and asked if I was willing to help build a machine. Of course, I couldn’t refuse.”

“Which machine?” Nate stroked Desmond’s hair for a moment before answering.

“I assisted in the creation of the Detragan, I helped figure out everything, all the kinks, the problems.” Nate was silent for another moment before he spoke again. “I created the blueprints for the Detragigant. We didn’t necessarily… get together in that moment, but that was the first time we had gotten intimate.”

“I… see.” Nate hummed, lowering his head.

“Alright, I told you. What happened to Desmond? Where’s Raymond?” Layton swallowed, his already tight throat growing tighter.

“Raymond is dead.” Nate went still; Layton could hear a string of muttered curse words filling the tense air.

“How? Do you know where he is?”

“I’m not sure how exactly, Bronev didn’t tell me much --”

“Bronev?” Nate had moved in a flash, standing between the professor and Des, his posture suddenly defensive. “What happened? Why was Desmond with Targent?”

“From what I’ve gathered….” Layton paused for a moment, damn, was the injury this serious? He tried again. “From what I’ve gathered, they had Desmond in their custody; after Raymond was killed, he had lost his mind. Refused to eat, sleep. I was their last resort --” Nate blanched.

“You went willingly to Targent? You’re… pretty dense, for the professor who solved the three great legacies.”

“Well, would you rather he had died?” The professor covered his mouth at the sudden outburst. Nate’s eyes were narrowed. “Apologies. I realize how bad Targent is now. When I managed to bring Desmond out of his child-like state, Bronev wanted me to ask about the Azran. I couldn’t. He tried to get to him.”

“...Hm.” Nate frowned. “And I’m assuming that you got your injury from then?” Layton nodded. Nate sighed deeply. “Has anyone told you how trusting you are?”

Layton furrowed his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“You are. You are far too trusting --” Nate jumped at the groan Desmond made then, the man on the couch stirring. He knelt down, brushing hair back. “Desmond? Are you awake?”

Des’s eyes focused then, red and sharp. He clenched at Nate’s hand before his eyes softened.

“N --”

“Shh.” Desmond frowned.

“Why did you --” Des’s voice was hoarse. “Why am I back… here?” Nate frowned.

“You need help, Des.”

“N-No.” Desmond’s eyes flashed in complete terror. “No…. I….” His eyes flashed to Layton’s then. “I….”

A knock at the door. Nate and Layton glanced at each other before the former stood and walked to the door. Des stiffened where he was laying as Nate pulled open the door.

“Hello?”

“Hello.” Layton’s head snapped towards the voice. “I’m… I’m looking for my son, Luke Triton.”

“Brenda?” He walked towards the front door, pulling his turtleneck up to cover his bruising.

“Hershel? Is that really you?” Brenda stepped forward, hands grasping Hershel’s upper arms. “You’ve been gone for a while now, I’m glad you’re safe. What are you doing out here?” Hershel frowned.

“That doesn’t matter. You said Luke is missing?” Brenda nodded, tears shining in her eyes.

“Is he not here with you?”

“No, he isn’t. Where was he last?” Brenda frowned.

“He was at home last night. He wasn’t in his room this morning.” Layton pursed his lips.

“Do you have any idea why he wouldn’t be there?”

“He said he was going to look for you.” Brenda shook her head. “Emmy’s been looking, so I thought he’d relax….”

“Don’t worry, Brenda. I’m sure Luke is safe. I’ll look for him.” Brenda smiled.

“Thank you, Hershel.”

\-----

“Emmy?”

“What is it, Luke?” The boy bit his lip, fidgeting a bit on his seat.

“I… I’m worried about the professor.” Emmy smiled sadly, turning down to look at the radar. Bronev said that they’d gotten away in a Targent helicopter, why couldn’t she find it?

“I know, Luke. I am, too.” Luke was silent for a moment.

“You aren’t really just the professor’s assistant, are you?” Emmy froze.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Luke.”

“Emmy. Please, tell me what’s going on. Who is Bronev?”

“....”

“Emmy?”

“I’m sorry, Luke.” She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking on the joystick. “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you alri --”

“Luke. Whatever happens, please.” She clenched her teeth together. “I can’t let you get hurt. If… if there’s ever a moment that looks dangerous for you, please don’t stay with me. I’m fine, I can take care of myself --”

“Emmy, is the professor in danger?”

“I --”

“Is he?” Emmy sniffed. Luke stood from his seat, then moved forward, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s okay, Emmy. It… it will be okay.” Emmy couldn’t help but laugh sadly. Luke didn’t know what he was getting into. He wasn’t aware of how dangerous the organization she worked for could be.

“It’s okay,” Luke said again. 

“...No,” Emmy finally said, using a sleeve to wipe her eyes. “No, it’s not.”


	14. Getting Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate and Desmond thought that Hershel was okay.

Brenda only stayed a few more moments before she left. Nate glanced at Hershel as he closed the door.

“Isn’t Luke Triton your little apprentice?” Hershel sighed, then nodded, placing a hand on his chin, thinking. Where could he have gone to look for him? “I have a bad feeling, professor. It would be best to look for him now --”

“Luke… he’s a strong boy.” Layton glanced at Nate. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Nate rolled his eyes before turning back to the living room.

“Whatever you say -- Des?” Layton turned back to look, as well. “When did you get that mask on?”

Desmond frowned at them. “It makes me feel safe.” His fingers reached up to brush the white object, as if he were validating that it was, indeed, there. “I just put it on.” Nate stepped forward.

“You don’t need that on, you’re safe here.” Nate reached out to Des’s face. “Come on, let’s take it off.” Des snarled, tensing. Hershel frowned, his own body tensing for whatever may happen next.

“Don’t touch my mask.” The masked man threw out an arm. “Don’t. I feel safe. I want it on.”

“Des.” Nate’s voice had turned slightly stern. “I want to talk to you. I want to see your eyes.”

“You are treating me like a child. Stop.”

“Nate.” Hershel finally stepped forward. “It would be best to listen to him.” Nate didn’t seem to hear the professor. He touched the mask on Des’s face; the red-eyed man stiffened.

“You are acting like one, Des. I just want to help.” In a flash of movement, Des had pinned Nate to the wall, a knife to his neck.

The room froze. Nate’s eyes widened. The blade dug into his flesh, small beads of blood forming around it.

“Don’t touch it.” Des’s voice was feral, deep -- he was Descole in this moment. Layton wasn’t quite sure what to do. “Don’t you dare touch it, you are nothing, you are no better than Targent if you disrespect my wishes. I told you I didn’t want it off.” Nate swallowed, his expression relaxing to a calm one. Layton wasn’t sure how he managed to do it.

“Des.” Nate only winced a little when Des pressed the knife harder against his neck. “You’re scared, you’re terrified, but please. You’ll only hurt yourself more by doing this.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of taking your life?”

“No, not at all.” Nate smiled, his eyes flitted over to meet Layton’s before his eyes met Des’s through the mask again. “Not at all. I don’t care what happens to me, as long as you’re happy and safe.” Des’s hands began to shake; his body tensed. A long moment of silence followed.

“You’re lying to me.”

“Desmond.” The man whirled his head to face Layton’s. “He’s not. He’s stayed with you for so long.” The professor took a step forward. “Please, put the knife down.” Desmond flinched, taking a step away. Nate put a hand to his throat the moment he was released; Des’s mouth was slightly ajar, he was looking at the object in his hand as if he wasn’t aware that it had even been there. His hands trembled; in fact, his whole body was starting to shake. He looked up at Nate, saw the small trickles of blood that were escaping through the gaps in his fingers.

The knife clattered to the floor. Des knelt down, gripped his head. Nate knelt down next to him, his free hand rubbing his back.

“Desmond --” The man on the floor screamed, his body shaking with the exertion. It was a scream of a broken man; a pure, agonizing scream that would have frozen anyone where they stood. Nate continued his comforting movements as Des’s voice cracked, then trailed off. His shoulders jerked when he hiccuped in a breath of air.

Layton wasn’t sure how to go about fixing this situation they were in. Nate moved his hand from Des’s back to his hair, stroking it gently. He began humming as well -- Layton recognized the song. It was the one Melina had sang -- the Song of the Sea. Desmond’s head tilted up a bit as Nate’s hand gently eased his own from his head.

“Sh-h-h….” Nate looked up at Layton then. “Go make some tea. He’ll need something to soothe his throat.” Nate’s voice was quiet, trembling with emotions. Layton nodded. Nate smiled shakily before turning back to Des, resuming his humming. Desmond stared at him, his mouth slack. A hand moved from his side to cup the side of Nate’s face. The man smiled.

“It’s okay now.” Desmond whimpered; Nate leaned forward, placed a gentle kiss on the other’s lips. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you. I love you. Do you understand?”

“I --” Des’s voice cracked; he coughed, winced. He tried to talk again, then frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t.” Nate nodded.

“And that’s okay if you don’t.” Nate placed a hand on Des’s cheek. “It’s alright to not understand how I love you. But I do. You need to trust me on this. I just want you to be happy and safe.” Desmond was silent for a moment. Nate hesitated before speaking next. “I’m sure Raymond would want you to be happy and safe as well.” Desmond clenched his teeth; his shoulders shook again with a silent sob. He was too filled with sorrow, with grief, to react the way he normally did, to lash out. Nate frowned. “Desmond, will you let me take off the mask?” The masked man hesitated, then finally nodded quickly. Nate gently hooked his fingers under the mask and lifted the object off.

Broken red eyes looked back at him, red and puffy from tears. The underside of the mask was wet; Nate set it to the side before reaching for Des’s face again. A thumb brushed under his eyes.

“It’s okay. I’m here. Your brother is here. You’re okay now.” Des’s eyes fixed on Nate’s throat; his expression was unreadable.

“I hurt you.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” Des looked back up at Nate, eyes glassy. “It’s not okay, and you know that.”

“... Wha --” Nate shot up at the thump, followed by a loud crash from the kitchen.

“Professor?” Des moved with a speed Nate hadn’t seen before, he was up and in the kitchen as the first syllable left his mouth. Nate ran in behind Des, and gasped at the collapsed body of Layton, glass shards from the shattered tea set around him.

Des turned the professor over -- he was so pale, a sheen of sweat on his body as he trembled slightly. Desmond pressed two fingers to the side of Layton’s throat, the other brushing stray strands of hair from the younger man’s face. He relaxed after a moment.

Nate was still reeling -- how did Des go from sobbing, doubtful… to this so quickly?

“He’s breathing.” A pause. “Heart’s pounding.” Another pause; Des watched Layton’s face for a moment, then slapped his cheeks lightly. Desmond was silent for a long moment before he turned to Nate. “Do you think this is an aftereffect of the injury?”

“That… it probably is.” Des frowned, then turned back to Layton as he began to stir.

“Hershel,” Des started. Layton opened his eyes after a moment; they were hazy, glazed with confusion and weariness. “Hershel, can you hear me? Are you feeling okay?” The professor groaned softly, his arms twitching.

“What happened?” He finally asked, his voice quiet, weak. “Why am I on the floor?”

“I think you passed out.” Desmond’s voice, though still hoarse, pained… it was gentle, soft. “How are you feeling?” It was a while before Layton responded again.

“Tired -- my head hurts….” Desmond straightened.

“Don’t sleep just yet, you might have a concussion. Do you remember hitting your head?”

“No?” Layton’s voice was heavy, slurred; he was blinking owlishly, his eyes glazed, drooping. “I don’t remember anything like that at all.” A long pause. “My head hurts….”

“I know. How’s your throat feeling? Do you feel like it’s hard to swallow or breathe?”

“I….” Layton jerked then, as if he were trying to keep himself awake. “...Somewhat.”

“Does it feel like there’s something pressing on your throat? A presence that’s always there?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Your throat does look swollen….” Des shook Layton’s head when it tilted to the side. “Stay awake, okay?” The younger professor grumbled before falling silent again. “Hershel, stay awake.”

“... I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“You aren’t thinking clearly right now. Sleeping is a terrible idea. Stay awake.” Layton didn’t respond. Des ran a hand through his hair, sighed, then looked over at Nate.

“Call an ambulance.”

“Des?”

“I said call an ambulance.” Des’s voice sounded dead, accepting. “He’s worse off than we thought. Than I thought.” Nate was silent for a moment, just staring from Des to Layton’s motionless body.

“Will you get checked up on as well?” Des tensed, then nodded.

“...Yeah. I… I will.” Nate smiled, then strode over to his phone and picked it up.

\------

“Desmond Sycamore has been found.” Bronev looked over to his second in command, pursing his lips.

“Where is he?” Swift smiled.

“I was just informed that he was submitted to a hospital in London along with the professor.” Bronev stood, smiling.

“Good work, Swift.”

“Thank you, Boss.” The leader of Targent moved over to Swift, placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You will make a good leader yet.” The man stiffened.

“Boss --”

“I will send Emmeline to get them. She still has their trust.” Swift hesitated, then nodded.

“Shall I call her?”

“No. I’ll call her myself.”


	15. Found Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hershel is admitted to the hospital, Nate is beginning to crumble, and Des is struggling to stay in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very heavy chapter (this whole fic is -- but I digress), please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

“What are your relations with the patient?” Nate cast a glance at Des as the paramedics lifted Layton onto a gurney. Des’s eyes were blank; he blinked once, twice, before answering.

“Brother.” The two paramedics glanced at each other.

“I didn’t think the professor had a brother.” Des pursed his lips.

“We were separated at a young age due to adoption.”

“Ah -- I see.” The paramedics started talking to each other, and Nate could clearly hear the hushed ‘can he come with the patient?’ before Desmond stepped forward.

“I believe it would be best to contact his family, they should know what’s happening.” Desmond placed a hand on his chest, grasped at the fabric of his shirt. “I can contact them, we’ll be on our way soon.”

“Are you sure, sir?” A pause as the paramedic looked Des over. “What happened to you two?” Desmond smiled tightly.

“Now is not the time to be discussing that.”

“It is, if you want us to take care of the professor correctly. Do you know how long ago the assault happened?” Des blinked, furrowed his eyebrows.

“I -- I don’t know. Everything’s a blur.”

“It was a few days ago,” Nate offered. “We didn’t think much of the bruising, because an injury like that normally gets worse before healing.”

The other paramedic was feeling his throat lightly; Layton came awake with a sharp hiss of pain. They frowned slightly. “Can you hear me, sir?” Layton blinked.

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, sluggish.

“We’re just here to help. We’re taking you to the hospital, okay?” Layton nodded, his body trembling slightly. “Can you tell us what hurts?”

“Throat, head.”

“Are there any places that are numb?” Layton was silent for a moment, eyes hazy, then blinked.

“What?” The paramedics glanced at one another before they stood the gurney up and started wheeling him out. Desmond followed them outside.

“Do you know what happened?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” one of the paramedics started, then hesitated, looking at their partner. They nodded. “It appears he may have had a stroke -- most likely from a blood clot from the throat injury.” Desmond bit his lip.

“Will he be alright?”

“He will be.”

“What are you doing?” Desmond reached up and grasped at his shirt again at the tone of Layton’s voice. He sounded scared, confused.

“I’m just taking some vitals -- does anything feel numb, are you in pain?”

“I don’t understand, what is going on?” Layton’s voice was rising to hysterics. Desmond finally stepped forward, gripping one of his hands. The professor didn’t react.

“Hershel.” Layton slowly moved his head to look at him. “They’re just trying to help. Are you in pain?” The professor finally nodded. “Where does it hurt?” Desmond could almost see the gears in the professor’s head turning as he tried to piece together an answer.

“Everywhere.”

“Does anywhere feel numb, Hershel? Can you feel my hand touching yours?”

“You’re touching my hand?” Desmond’s stomach dropped. Layton tilted his head. “Where’d your glasses go, Professor Sycamore? Don’t you need them?” Desmond stepped away, his expression morphing into sorrow.

“Take him to the hospital. Now.” The paramedics nodded, lifting him into the back of the ambulance. Desmond’s expression grew blank after a moment, fixated on one spot as he calmed down from the adrenaline rush that had spurred him into action. He felt tired, he felt upset, he felt so, so guilty; his stomach rolled.

“Desmond?” Nate placed a hand on his shoulder; he stiffened. “Let’s call his parents. Okay?” Des let out a long, shaky sigh.

“I….” Des felt sick. His stomach churned, he could feel himself start to sweat. “Oh, my God, Nate -- I did this to him. I did this to everyone --” His hands trembled, oh God, he was going to --

Des lunged forward, gagging. He had hurt Layton, he had hurt Raymond, he was hurting Nate --

“Des… just breathe, just breathe…. It’s all going to be okay.” Desmond didn’t realize he was sobbing until Nate brushed away the tears that were beginning to fall. “Let’s call Layton’s parents, and we’ll go to the hospital. Alright? He’ll be okay, I promise you he will. The doctors know how to fix him.”

“That’s what they told me when -- when she w-was admitted, and sh-she --” Nate pursed his lips, and placed a hand on Des’s shoulder.

“Des, let’s go.” Nate’s voice was quiet, quieter than usual. “Please.” Desmond looked up at Nate’s face; he was crying as well. Nate blinked several times before speaking again. “Please.”

~~~

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Lucille Layton had answered, Desmond could hardly form words at that point, his emotions in overdrive. She had comforted him as he told her; she had burst into tears over the phone, as well.

Nate stopped the vehicle outside the hospital -- he left the engine running, didn’t look at Des.

“They probably won’t let me see him until he’s stable.” Nate’s voice had grown louder, but still carried a noticeable tremble. “You go on in.” Desmond glanced over at Nate.

“What about you?” Nate’s hands were slack on the steering wheel.

“I’m going to get us some food.” Des frowned. Nate sounded… worn. Tired.

“Are you okay?” The red-eyed man watched as Nate’s shoulders slumped.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure --”

“Yes.” Nate looked over at Des then; the dark circles under his eyes, the worn, tired-looking smile. “I’m sure. Go see your brother. I’ll be back soon.” Desmond’s thoughts were spinning, whirling as he stepped out of the car. Nate wasn’t okay, why did he lie? Did he think Des couldn’t handle it? He deserved to know --

No. He didn’t care, remember? He straightened, walked into the building.

It was too sterile, too clean. He had always hated hospitals. The nurses glanced up at him as he approached the front desk.

“How can we help you?” One woman asked. Desmond took in a long breath, exhaled.

“I’m here to visit my brother, Hershel Layton?” The woman nodded before flipping through a clipboard, standing up.

“What’s your name?”

“Desmond. Desmond Sycamore.”

“Alright… follow me.”

Desmond swallowed thickly when he fell into step behind the nurse, clutching at an arm with one hand while the other fiddled with his tie.

She stopped at a door, knocked before opening it.

“Mr and Mrs Layton? A Desmond Sycamore wants to come in. Can he?” There was a bit of shuffling before Lucille opened the door fully. Her eyes caught Desmond’s, and she gave a saddened smile.

“Of course he can.” Lucille motioned for Desmond to step into the room, and he did so, the world slowing down. She gripped his hand gently, but firmly. “You’ve grown so much, dear.” Desmond couldn’t help but smile.

“I can’t stay a child forever, now, can I?”

“No… I suppose you can’t.” Lucille’s expression dropped. “They’re doing testing right now to see if he’s able to have surgery to get rid of the clots.” Desmond’s small smile dropped.

“They’ve confirmed that?”

Lucille nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “Yes. They confirmed that he did have a stroke -- I’m so glad you called when that happened. We were so worried --” She sniffed. Desmond looked at the ground as Lucille pulled him over to the curtains, which were pulled shut slightly, and ushered him in.

Roland was sitting next to a familiar figure -- Hershel himself was unconscious, his body connected to a heart monitor. There were a few IV needles in him -- his wrist, his hand. There was an oxygen mask over his face, the plastic fogging up with every exhale the professor made. His neck was exposed, the dark bruising clearly visible.

“Go on, sit down, Desmond.” Des felt like a child, he was so lost on what to do, so confused, so afraid. He finally moved, sitting down next to Hershel’s left side, Roland on the other. Lucille moved next to her husband, and she grasped at his hand with one of hers before reaching out and stroking her son’s hair with the other.

They remained like this for a while; Desmond finally reached and grabbed his younger brother’s hand, his own shaky as he gripped it gently. Desmond was silent for a bit longer before he decided that he should do it, he should tell them. He took a shaky breath, opened his mouth.

“...Ma? Pa?” Layton had woken, his half lidded eyes meeting his parents’ figures. “What’re you doing in my house?”

“Oh, honey.” Lucille leaned over her son, brushed away stray hairs. “You’re in the hospital, do you remember?” Layton furrowed his eyebrows as Roland stood and left the room.

“No? Why would I be in the hospital?” A tear streaked its way down Lucille’s face.

“Hershel. It’s going to be okay.” The younger professor let his head loll to the side, and his eyes met Desmond’s.

“What are you doing here, Professor Sycamore?” Desmond gave a shaky smile.

“I’m your brother, remember?”

“You are?”

“Yes, yes, Hershel, I am.”

The door opened again, Roland came back with a nurse. He met Desmond’s eyes.

“You can stay if you want to. We’re just going to discuss what to do next.” The nurse looked at Layton.  
“Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” Layton stared at for a moment, took in her appearance. He blinked slowly, squinted.

“Claire?” His voice was quiet. The nurse frowned, tucked a strand of her her red hair behind her ear.

“My name is Cassandra.” Layton frowned, reaching a hand out. Lucille gripped his hand in both of hers, stroking it softly.

“Hershel, honey, Claire’s not here.”

“Isn’t she right there?”

“No, no, that’s the nurse.”

“Where is she, then?” Desmond felt his heart drop. He stood, feeling himself pale. Roland looked over at him.

“Are you alright, son?” Desmond forced a smile that felt fake.

“Y-Yeah. I… Nate’s probably waiting --” Roland gave a sad smile.

“It’s alright, my boy. You’ve had a long day.” Desmond’s smile dropped, he swallowed thickly before nodding. “Go get some fresh air.”

Desmond almost stumbled to the door, his eyes filling with tears. He pulled it open, and walked as calmly as he could possibly muster to the front doors. He spotted Nate’s car; however, Nate himself wasn’t inside. Desmond frowned while attempting to calm his breathing. Did they miss each other? He walked to the passenger side, peered into the window.

Nothing. Desmond bit his lip before he spotted him, sitting on the sidewalk.

“Nate?” The man didn’t respond for a moment. That’s when Des smelled it, the familiar scent of cigarette smoke. Nate looked up at Des as he brought a cigarette to his mouth with a shaky hand, breathing in. He lowered his hand slowly.

“How’s he doing?” His words came out in small puffs of smoke. Desmond didn’t know how to react. He didn’t think Nate smoked.

“He’s… doing okay, I think. He’s confused.” Another puff.

“Understandable.” Desmond walked towards Nate, sitting down next to him. He was silent for a moment.  
“I didn’t know you smoked.” Nate laughed humorously.

“The urges come and go.” Desmond bit his lip.

“Is it because of me?”

“Do you think it’s because of you?” Nate pushed a paper bag over. “I brought some food.” Desmond shook his head.

“I’m sorry.” Nate looked over at him, his eyes looking so, so tired.

“For what?”

“For everything. I should have never chose this path.”

“And what path was that?” Nate’s voice was quiet, wary. He looked down at the cigarette in his hands before dropping it to the ground and stomping on it. Desmond watched as he brought out the box, flipping it open and taking out a new one, fishing a lighter from his pocket before lighting it.

“...I….” Nate looked at him again once he breathed out the puff of smoke.

“Hm?” Desmond frowned. The side of Nate’s mouth turned up slightly. “This helps me somewhat. It’s almost like….” Nate paused, then rolled up his sleeves. “It’s kinda like these scars.”

Des felt sick. Nate… he’d been…. He felt himself leaning forward, looking at the silvery lines. How had he not noticed them before? He didn’t realize he was shaking until he placed a hand on Nate’s, turning it over slightly, examining every scar, looking at his wrist.

He exhaled shakily. There was a jagged scar there, faded, worn, but it was there.

“Nate --”

“Don’t worry. Those were from long before I started working for you.” A long pause. “I sometimes regret doing that to myself, but other times....”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Des could feel his already fragile mind cracking under the stress. “Please don’t.”

They both looked up when a yellow scooter stopped in front of the hospital. A small boy jumped off first before the driver did. Desmond felt a surge of anxiousness.

“Emmy, are you sure he’s here?”

“Positive.” Emmy removed her helmet. “The professor is here.”

“How do you know --”

“Luke, just trust me on this. Okay?” Desmond frowned as the two stepped into the building. How did Emmy know? He felt dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Odd. Very odd.

“Des?”

“...Emmy shouldn’t have known where we were.” Des could feel Nate stiffen.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. She couldn’t have known.” They both shot to their feet. “I can only think of two ways she could have found out.” Des felt panic stirring in his stomach. “And… I don’t think that the Laytons could have known where she was to call her.”

“Do you think…?” Des was already jogging slightly towards the hospital. He could hear Nate cursing before he heard footsteps behind him after another stomp.

Emmy was working for Targent. There was no other explanation.

\-----

“She’s going to extract them now.”

“Good.”

“Boss… are you sure you should take them before they are at full strength?”

“Are you questioning me, Swift?”

“....No. Of course not.”

“The power of the Azran civilization will be ours, do you understand? We will be the greatest organization in the world.”

“Of course, Boss.”

“Sycamore is the key to this. We need him. He knows where the location of the final legacy is. We haven’t even gotten close to discovering it.”

“Pardon my skepticism, but how do you know that --” A thud, a soft gasp.

“He knows, Swift. I know he does. He has to.” Soft choking.

“B-Boss, please… put me down.” Another thud, another gasp.

“Do you understand, Swift?!”

“...Y-Yes-s….” A pause. “Pl-leas-e. It hurt-ts….”

“Hmph.” A swish of fabric, gasping, coughing. “You’re weak, Swift. You do not doubt me. You are only this far because of your loyalty. If you start questioning me, I will be forced to dispose of you.”

“Okay. Okay, Boss.”

“I am going to see how Emmy’s doing with her job. Think about what you’ve done.”

“I… I will.”


	16. A/N

Hey guys!

Susie here!

You guys are probably wondering where this story is. And I'm here to tell you what it's fate is.

I'm discontinuing this version. I have decided to reboot it, as this version seems... rushed, and there are countless plot holes that I am now seeing that I put in as afterthoughts.

In other words, I didn't think this universe through. And I hate that.

So now, I've been hashing it out more and more, and I'm completely rewriting it. I want to be proud of this. Looking at this version, I am not.

So sorry! The new version can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218164)!

I'll try to post updates to this as much as possible. Thank you for bearing with me.

Until next time,

Susie


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